


Something Warm

by Lola1b



Series: In Your Arms [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Comfort, Comfort fic, Fluff, M/M, Tiny bit of Angst, bucky has some issues, but it's all good in the end, discussions of trauma, happy and sappy for the most part, vacationing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lola1b/pseuds/Lola1b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes has had enough of the cold in his life. So when a mission takes him, Steve, Sam, and Natasha to the tropical country of the Dominican Republic, Natasha finds the first excuse she can to make sure they can stay and enjoy the warmth.<br/>It would have been perfect, if only Bucky's past didn't continue to haunt him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspired by my trip. And yes, it was lovely, thank you. Also, I apologize if I misrepresent anything about the wonderful country of Dominican Republic. I was only there for five days as a dumb tourist, so I only glimpsed a little of it.
> 
> This is a slightly longer work than what I usually post in this fandom. Please enjoy!

Something Warm

1

 

The hot sun bore down on his arms. Sweat formed under his cap, matting his hair. He thought it'd be enjoyable to go to the tropics this time of the year, but he appeared to have been wrong; it was too hot.

“You holding up, boys?” Natasha's voice cooed over the headset.

Steve took a deep breath and continued down the stench-filled street. People watched him pass with an interested look; most blue-eyed, blond haired people around here were tourists, and he certainly wasn't with a tour guide. He wandered the slum streets of Santo Domingo alone and with a heavy cap over his face, trying to draw as little attention as he could.

“Just get into position,” Steve said quietly, mindful of the eyes that darted to him whenever he made a sound. He mumbled an “excuse me” as he gently pushed his way past a group of women, blushing as a sudden peal of laughter filled the air.

“ _Guapo_ ,” he thought he heard, and blushed more.

“Aw, Steve, did you find yourself some admirers?”

He glanced to the side and saw Natasha's red head bobbing up and down among the huts. They were made of wood and old, rusted metal. They looked like they've been there forever, abandoned and uninhabited. Yet life bloomed here, in the children playing at his feet as he passed by, in the young, giggling girls, in the old men playing cards while sitting on overturned trash cans. Life survived, even in these slums, even in this heat. The job came with a lot of dangers and obvious rewards; fame, admiration, influence. But when reporters ask, he'll tell them there's things no one thinks about, little things, like visiting so many parts of the world. Little Steven Rogers, who loved to draw and get into fights with men twice his size, would never have seen the Dominican Republic, or Romania, or Belgium.

The haphazard layout of the slums made it difficult to maneuver. And likely, it made it easier for their target to hide. They've been in the city for nearly an hour, and he kept just barely dodging out of their way.

“Got him. He's heading across the bridge,” Sam's urgent voice sounded in the earpiece.

“I'll get him,” Bucky's gruff voice immediately replied.

“No, stay in position. We need your eyes up top. Do you see him?” Steve asked as he broke into a light jog. Natasha was by his side and the two stopped just shy of stepping onto the bridge. Cars, some old and rusted, some new and not too different from cars at home, moved past them and around them. No lights and no stop signs stopped the trickling of metal and the loud honks that pushed traffic across, down, and all around the bridge.

“Kinda glad we didn't take a car,” Steve said as Natasha donned a determined face and began walking straight across the bridge. Cars honked and drove around her, and a few were just shy of hitting her, but the traffic slowed their speed enough that any hit was a little more than a gentle bump.

They were halfway across when they saw Sam running full speed at the ruins of the old walls that once surrounded the city. They quickly followed, jumping over the last of the cars and running at full speed towards the open gate. Once inside they paused. An alley to their right led to more alleys, the one directly in front of them was blocked with cars, and to their left was a set of stairs leading to the house of Columbus, where a large crowd of tourists were staring and gasping ahead.

They took the stairs two at a time and managed just to glimpse Sam rising back up to his feet. He wiped at his sweat-streaked face and motioned towards the low walls surrounding the front of the house.

“He jumped down there.” Steve nodded and went around left while Natasha went right, and Sam stood for a while catching his breath before he ran through the gasping crowd of tourists to cut straight through the historic house. He ran out the balcony and saw Steve and Natasha circle the house.

“Where is he?” Sam called. A security guard gingerly approached him and he waved him off.

“I got him,” they heard Bucky's voice. He wasn't supposed to engage. Not just because he was, as Tony liked to call him, unstable, but also because he technically, officially, legally, was not actually allowed to engage in combat on the behalf of the Avengers. Steve might have ignored that ruling when he picked his team for this mission, but with so many witnesses, he decided to heed it for once.

“Where are you?” He started walking back around the house. “Bucky?”

A loud crash was followed by the tourists' shrieks, and the trio quickly regrouped in the courtyard in the back of the house. Their criminal was on the ground, with Bucky's knee on his back and a gun to his temple. Steve quickly came over to help haul the man up. Natasha and Sam turned big smiles towards the security guards and tourists, quickly utilizing their limited Spanish to assure them they were police and that there was no reason to worry. Bucky backed off quickly once Steve had his hands on the man.

“You good?” Steve asked. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I didn't assassinate him, did I?"

They handed the criminal over to the naval base in Santo Domingo. The hot sun was no longer shining. It was muted by the thick clouds that were quickly turning the afternoon gray. Natasha sat in the pilot's seat inside the qunjet, her brows furrowing in concern as she clicked and tapped on all the instruments at her disposal.

“Something's up?” Steve asked as he came over to lean his arm near the cockpit.

“A storm.”

“Can you fly in it?”

Natasha shook her head. “No way. These jets may be high-tech, but unless I take a crazy detour for which we don't have enough fuel, there's no way I'll be able to get us home today. I say we wait it out, at least a day.”

Bucky and Sam joined them by the cockpit door just as Natasha was finishing up her sentence.

“What's this about staying a day?” Sam asked. There was a quirk in his lips, like a smile he was trying to conceal. Bucky seemed confused, as he often did.

“Well, I suppose I'll call up the president's office, let him know we'll be staying within the borders a day longer.”

“Oh, don't worry about, Steve,” Natasha said with a smile. “Just let the base know we're not taking off after all. I'll handle the arrangements.”

Steve nodded and left her there with Sam, who elected to stay with her to help her sort this out. Bucky hovered near the jet, his eyes following Steve as he went to find the highest level officer still around. It was quickly getting darker. A few raindrops fell on top of his head.

When he came back, Sam was standing stiff with a rigid expression – he was trying not to smile or laugh. Natasha's face was even but there was a sparkle in her eye. She definitely was up to something, and Sam knew what.

The unnatural darkness caused by the rain clouds was slowly becoming more natural with the coming of the night. Quickly, the day turned to night and the rain began falling down in sheets of water.

Natasha quickly led them to a white van.

“We're gonna abduct some kids in that,” Bucky asked, eyeing the vehicle. Natasha laughed and motioned for them to get in.

“We're not staying in the base.”

“Why not?” Steve asked. “Is there no space?”  
“That, and the government is a little iffy about the Avengers hanging around their base for too long. I got Tony to pay up. The catch is we have leave the city.”

It was evident after about twenty minutes that Natasha Romanov was definitely up to something. Steve asked her five times, once while still in the city, twice along the less crowded and slummy parts of the outer city, and twice more when their van remained on the same stretch of road for more than an hour, where she was taking them. She finally answered when palm trees started dotting the road.

“Well, all the hotels in the city were booked. So we're going to a resort.”

Sam chuckled a little under his breath. The two super soldiers looked completely shocked.

“I'm just glad we were all in civilian garb anyway,” Natasha said with a laugh. “Welcome, gentlemen, to Punta Cana.” Just as she said this, they passed a security booth and turned onto a nice, clean road. The palm trees were evenly spaced along the road, and the sidewalk had two or three people, in uniforms, walking leisurely on them. A low sound of music barely raised above the soothing sound of the wind.

“We don't have time for vacation,” Steve finally said. He was mildly surprised Clint didn't appear out of nowhere. It was him who first complained that none of them have been on vacation in a while; save for Bucky and Steve's Disney trip and the occasional “semi-business” trips of Tony Stark.

“Actually, we do. Everyone agrees.”

Steve raised a brow. Natasha turned to him from the front row, where she sat with Sam. In the back, where there was a little more space, Steve sat squished next to Bucky, who was silent and stared out the window.

“You've been working hard lately. As have I. Team Cap needs a break, is all. Somewhere warm.” Bucky turned to her. Something passed between the two, something Steve couldn't decipher. Then Bucky was staring out the window again, his eyes catching on the palm trees, jumping back once they were out of sight, and catching onto the next.

They arrived in front of their resort. Bavaro beach, adults only. The receptionist at the front, a young man, only asked Natasha for her ID and she giggled innocently. The moment the man's back was turned she rolled her eyes at her friends. The receptionist brought out silver bracelets and tied them around Natasha's wrist, around Sam's, then paused before he put on Steve's, his eyes flitting up to him. But he didn't say anything that would show he recognized him and simply adjusted the size to fit. Bucky gave his right hand. There was no AC in the lobby. It was open, only light white blinds acting as the walls to shield from the rain. They had arrived in the country in light sweatshirts to conceal their weapons, but they had left those behind, – save for a few knives and a small gun Natasha was concealing – now that the danger passed, in the jet. But while the rest of them shed their outer layers, Bucky still wore his sweatshirt, covering his metal arm. He wore his heavy cap, too, and the sweat was pouring down his face as if he had been out in that drenching rain.

They waited on the soft, warm couches for a couple of minutes before the receptionist called them back and told them their rooms were ready. Their luggage was waiting for them there, too.

“Luggage?” Steve asked as they followed Natasha, who seemed to know exactly where she was going, down a long walkway flanked by ferns and bushes. “How long are we staying?”

“You need a change of clothes and to brush your teeth, don't you?” she asked, giving him a pointed look.

“We're not staying for long. Just for tonight.”

“And tomorrow,” Sam said quickly, his brows drawing in disbelief. “Did you see that beach? And you both could use some sun. You're so freakin' pale, Barnes.”

Bucky glared at him and said nothing.

They came to their rooms, all three next to each other. Steve immediately stopped Natasha.

“Only three?”

She looked back at him as if he just asked her the dumbest questions she has ever heard. “We're really short notice, Cap,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “You and James can share, can't you?”

Sam snorted.

“James, huh?” Steve asked, glancing back at Bucky.

“Feels weird to call the ex-Hydra assassin I used to have nightmares about _Bucky_.”

Natasha said something quick to Bucky, in Russian, and Bucky shrugged.

Steve gave a light shrug and held out his hand for the ID card that served as the key. She handed one to him and one to Bucky, then gave Sam his keys. The two bid Steve and Bucky goodnight and disappeared into their rooms.

Steve opened the door and walked in. There were two sinks embedded in shiny counters to their right. The bathroom, with a bath, was right next to that area. Ahead was the bedroom.

It shouldn't have surprised him that she wanted them in the same room. Sam probably agreed with the idea. And whoever else Natasha called up before deciding on this vacation. Then again, if the four of them had to divide in any form between three rooms, it was logical Natasha would want one of her own, and that the two best friends since childhood would share. But he couldn't get the thought that she expected more from this out of his head. They all sort of knew by now. Sam had caught Steve in Bucky's bed in the morning. He tried to explain it away, but his friends wouldn't believe a word of it, and had been treating them as if the two were a _thing_ now.

And they sort of, kind of, were a _thing_. Since that night when the, previously relatively chaste and secret, relationship became physical, they had stolen a kiss or hug here or there.

But even though they've technically become a _thing_ now, there was a tension between them. Mostly, because they were having a hard time talking at all. What happened those few weeks ago was the first and the last time they've been so close, physically or emotionally. The few secret kisses were simply too rare and too short and chaste for Steve to feel like they were truly together.

And the kicker was, it was what Steve originally wanted. That first kiss in Disney was accompanied by an intense fight about this very subject. Bucky was still rattled. Bucky was still hurting. Bucky was still confused and scared and god, did Steve not want to give him another thing to agonize over. And he did agonize over it. He told Steve one of those quiet nights, when it was just the two of them sitting alone, that he wasn't a blank slate. That during his Winter Soldier years, he wasn't empty. His mind was always racing a mile a second, and now, too, even when he was quiet or confused, his brain raced, trying to catch up. Adding feelings into that mix was liable to make things worse. And yet... Bucky wanted it. He practically begged Steve to stop being so noble about it. But then Steve got his wish. After their night together, things were awkward and sloppy. Steve would try to hug Bucky only for someone to walk in and stare at them which made it impossible for them both not to run off in opposite directions. Other times, they'd be alone, but Bucky would have this _look_ on his face, like his mind's really trying to work something out, and he had that look on so often, that Steve just couldn't approach him that way no matter how much he wanted to. Instead of falling into a steady rhythm, into something stable and sound, they were tumbled about and in chaos.

And so, for the past few weeks, they've continued on their longing looks and quick touches, and not dared more. Natasha, mischievous as she was, probably noticed and decided enough was enough. Which was why, when Steve opened the door to their room he saw that there was only one bed. A big bed, yes, but only one. Bucky eyed it for a moment, them turned nonchalant eyes to Steve.

“Guess we're bunking together, pal.”

“Seems like it,” Steve said, smiling in spite of himself. The few times they've managed to fall asleep together – like that night or sometimes on the couch in the living room after a boring movie – it was pure bliss. Nothing felt better than having the guy he loved above anything, above himself and country, above friends, above life itself, lying alongside him. It was still a bit embarrassing. They were from the 40s, after all. Cuddling with a guy, when Steve really sat down to think about it, was definitely _weird_. But hugging Bucky felt like the rightest thing in the world when he was there in that moment. Bucky liked to be what Sam called “the little spoon.” He'd be there with his back to Steve, but his hand would very slightly touch against Steve's where it pressed lightly to Bucky's stomach. His hair would be soft and so fully in Steve's face that he'd be finding hair in his mouth for hours after. But god, did it smell wonderful. And hell, it tasted wonderful, too, when he was brave enough to press a kiss to the back of Bucky's head. The weight of him in his arms, the feel of his breaths coming in steady as he slept, the warmth of his skin; above all, knowing that Bucky was _safe_ and _content_ , was the greatest feeling in the whole world.

And the occasional time, when Bucky would wake up mid-nap and turn around and press his hot mouth to Steve's – that, as rare and sometimes awkward as it was, that felt wonderful, too.

Their suitcases sat in the corner by their bed. They were labeled with their names, _Steve_ and _James –_ likely to avoid them being recognized as the Avengers, since _Rogers_ and _Barnes_ were household names now. They quickly went about unzipping them and examining the contents. There were enough clothes in their cases to last two weeks, not a single night or the extra morning Steve begrudgingly agreed to.

“Think we might be staying here for a while,” Bucky said with a grin. “Never vacationed in the tropics before.”

“No way,” Steve cried in disbelief as he pulled out his swimwear. There were a few that were proper swimming trunks, the kind he got used to wearing, but what he held in his hands now was a bright, red speedo. Steve heard Bucky laugh before he felt a hand on his shoulder and saw Bucky's face press close to look at the offending clothing.

“Well, you're sure to put on a show for the ladies.” Bucky patted him on the back and turned back to his own case.

“Just the ladies, huh?” Steve asked with a grin. Bucky pulled out swimming attire that covered better, including a long sleeve swimming shirt. His mouth hung open a little, gratitude and surprise mixing into one wide-eyed expression.

“You shouldn't worry, you know,” Steve said as he slowly approached him. He wasn't sure if he should touch, so he didn't. He leaned over instead and gave Bucky a fond smile.

“I have scars, Steve. Even without the arm,” he paused, glanced down at it. Even though it was metal, losing it again caused him intense emotional pain. Since then, Tony graciously went through a few different models that Bucky could use as a replacement. In the end, he chose something that looked nearly identical to his old one. It made Steve sad at first, to see him fall into the same pattern. He wore black, he had the same silver arm – made from Vibranium now, courtesy of T'Challa – and he even wore his hair long like the Winter Soldier. But it gave Bucky a sense of familiarity, even if the place those familiar things came from were places of pain and suffering. His arm now had a white star on it, surrounded by red and and a thin line of dark blue, painted by Steve's hand in a tasteful yet still obnoxiously American look.

It would definitely be noticed, though, so the shirt was much appreciated, from the both of them.

It was nearly eleven by the time they were done examining the contents of their cases. They managed to find their bathroom kits and sleepwear and took turns in the bathroom. Bucky went first, so that by the time Steve came back to the bedroom, Bucky was already lying down in the center, relaxing with his head on the three giant pillows with his eyes closed.

“Your neck is gonna kill you if you sleep like that.”

“Hmm,” Bucky hummed, his eyelids fluttering slightly.

“Come on, move over, you punk. Don't hog all the pillows,” Steve said as he climbed onto the bed next to Bucky.

“Mm-hm,” Bucky hummed again, shifting just a little over.

“Come on, move, Buck.”

“Make me.”

Bucky's face lit up with a wide grin and his eyes slowly opened, the sleepiness almost completely gone from them. Steve leaned over him, stared down into those sparkling eyes.

“Don't tease me right now, Buck. I'm tired as hell.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and rolled over to give Steve more room. Then they both pushed the covers down and wiggled underneath them. Once they were there, that awkward uncertainty returned. They stared at each other for a moment.

“Goodnight?” Bucky said slowly, unsure. Steve swallowed and nodded, turning to turn off the light. The night here was incredibly dark, almost pitch-black, and once the lamp-light was gone, Steve couldn't see a thing except for the thin slice of the streetlight through the cracks between the window curtains. He took a few deep breaths, his back still to Bucky. The bed was big, but so were they, so while they weren't touching, Steve could feel the heat radiating from Bucky. There was an AC remote on the nightstand. Steve raised the AC until he heard it click, and sank back into the pillows.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve decided to let himself enjoy this a little. It wasn't like he had a choice. Not just because Natasha and Sam refused to leave, but because Bucky -- Bucky was happy and relaxed.

 

 

Steve woke up around five in the morning. He saw the number glare at him in digital red before he became aware of anything else. Then a shiver ran through him. He pulled the blanket up to his chin, felt it snag, and turned to see Bucky.

He was sitting up, shivering, his teeth clattering as he stared forward at the wall. It didn't look like he'd been up for long. The bleary confusion of having just woken up was still present in his eyes. He turned his head to Steve. There was something more to the confusion in Bucky's eyes; panicked fear. Steve turned on the light and quickly moved closer, his hands raising up to cup Bucky's cheeks.

“Hey, you alright?”

Bucky pulled away and grabbed the comforter, covering himself better. “Yea. Can you turn the AC down?”  
Steve grabbed the remote and lowered the AC. Either he lowered it way too much last night, or there was a malfunction, because it was definitely cold, though not cold enough to cause so much shaking in his bed-mate.

Bucky sank back into the bed, his back to Steve. He could see Bucky was still shaking. He wanted to ask what woke him. Was it the cold? Was it nightmares? But what could Steve do?

But Bucky hated when he coddled him. He hated when Steve told him he could come to him with his nightmares.

He said he didn't want Steve to know them.

It was one of those topics Steve couldn't broach with Bucky. No matter how hard he tried to understand, how much he asked Bucky to talk to him, all he got was a frustrated sigh. He had no choice but to take Natasha's advice and leave him alone. _He'll come to you if he wants to – when he's ready._

They woke up again around seven. The phone was ringing and Bucky was closer to it, so he picked up. He spoke in Russian, hung up, then turned toward Steve.

“Natasha says breakfast is in thirty and to get our asses out of bed.”

Steve laughed, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and got out of bed.

* * *

 

 

It was ridiculously hot. Bucky found a white, thin shirt that let the air flow through the fabric while still covering his arm moderately well. There was also a new hat, white, made from lighter material, that he quickly put on to hide his face. Steve stared at him out of the corner of his eye as they left the room. He looked good in white. It was refreshing seeing him in something different, something light and a little more cheerful.

The ocean was visible between the buildings. It wasn't as blue or as clean as he expected from all the praise he had heard of the tropics, but Natasha quickly reminded him of the storm. It rained more during the night, and it began to rain the moment they entered the buffet. The white blinds were lowered so the rain didn't enter the open aired restaurant.

“It'll be clear tomorrow.”

“Does that mean we can go home tomorrow?”

Natasha gave Steve a disdainful look. She wore a very pretty black dress that ended halfway down her thighs and fell off her shoulders gracefully. On her head she had a blue hat and she held her sunglasses – which she didn't really need today – in her hand close to her face. She was the perfect picture of a young woman on vacation. The look she gave him needed no words to accompany it. He sighed.

“How long?”

“A week.”

“A week!”

Sam shook his head and walked past them towards the buffet. “Just enjoy it man. And pick a table.”

They found one in an empty corner, near the white blinds. But the rain barely touched them, even this close to the “wall,” and the threat of it kept the other tourists away, letting them have some privacy. Bucky followed Sam to the buffet the moment they settled on a table. Steve stayed behind, ordered a coffee. Natasha waited for her cappuccino.

“You knew,” he accused. “The bed,” he clarified when she gave him a confused look.

“Come on, Rogers. Don't pretend you're not glad.” She gave him a smile and he sighed.

“It's not so simple.”

“Why not?”

“Hydra. That's why not. It's not like,” he paused. The waiter came back with their coffees, asked them whether the other two guests would like coffee, too. Natasha ordered a cappuccino for them both, along with orange juice.

“Real juice,” she said, “not the zombie crap they sell in America.”

Steve waited for her to sip her coffee a few more times and nod her head before he continued.

“It's complicated, is all.”

“You telling me this means you want advice.”

Steve shook his head. “I'm only explaining why pulling tricks like that won't help.”

“Yea, they will.”

Steve stared up at her. She had a small smile on her face. Her red lipstick was slightly faded from touching the coffee cup so many times, and on her upper lip sat a little of the foaming milk. A little imperfection. Somehow, it made him like her more. He handed her a napkin and motioned to her lips and she quickly dabbed at them.

He couldn't ask her what she meant by her words because at that moment, both of their friends returned with full plates. They were halfway done with a conversation, about Bucky putting too much on his plate, apparently.

“You're gonna waste it, and you know how much these people make? If I saw some white tourist asshole wasting so much food I'd be pissed.”

“As opposed to a not white asshole?” Bucky asked, motioning to Sam's plate as he set it down across from Bucky at their square table.

“The difference is that I'm gonna eat my share.”

Bucky was confident he'd eat his, too. But halfway through the hour, he abandoned the plate in search of desert, and Sam apologized, in Spanish, to the waiter who came to take the half-full plate away.

“I'll eat it,” Steve quickly said, and the waiter set the food down again.

“Aw, like a real couple,” Natasha cooed.

“Shut up,” Steve said, his gaze down, his cheeks light pink. When Bucky came back with desert, they ended up sharing that, too.

* * *

 

 

They spent the rest of the morning playing pool and chess. Sam beat Steve twice in the later, Natasha won against everyone but Steve, and Bucky had a surprising victory over Sam in a very long, boring match that the other two had rode off as a lost cause and abandoned to find something more interesting to do.

For Natasha, that was trying three new cocktails. For Steve, it was watching her taste them and tease him about his alcohol tolerance, feeling a little giddy from the fact that even with all that happened recently, Natasha was still a dear friend whom he trusted his life to. She was tipsy by the time they came back to see Bucky win. She was a little more than tipsy by lunch. They went to the second restaurant, a similar open space that was decidedly more green; with green napkins, green tablecloths being laid out, and green shrubs lining the dining area set outside the main structure. The thatched roof overhead was weighed down by giant fans that whirled slowly, making annoying squeaking sounds that eventually faded out among the laughter at their table. Natasha had tried two different wines, chose a white one, and got two refills. Bucky didn't suffer from the same alcohol tolerance so he drank about three beers and an exotic, blue cocktail during the meal. Sam limited himself and watched the two drunks together with Steve, the two making comments and messing with their friends' reduced speech and hand eye coordination.

After lunch, the sky cleared. Steve asked again if they could return home. But Natasha, having stopped outside the restaurant, only tapped her chin. After a moment of thought, she grinned at Steve, and reached down to grab the hem of her pretty black dress. It dropped at her feet and she ran at the pool. It was still dirty and the workers were just starting to clean it, but she jumped in anyway. Steve picked up her dress and ran after her.

“Get out, they want to clean it!”

“Make me!” She laughed. He grabbed her by the arm and easily hauled her out. She stared at him with a hard smile. A blur flew past her. Bucky crashed into the water, fully clothed, missing only his flip-flops.

Steve had to haul him out, too. Only Bucky was stronger than Natasha, and could pull more weight towards him. In the end, all three of them dripped heavily on the floor as they waited for the workers to bring them towels. Sam apologized to them in Spanish and the four of them went back to their rooms to change.

“Is this a better time to ask about this morning?” Steve asked as he pulled on a dry shirt. They could be liberal with their clothing. Natasha assured him they wouldn't stay longer than a week.

Bucky sighed and pulled his cap back on after having ran a brush through his hair a few times.

“It was a nightmare, is all. It was cold and that triggered something.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Bucky turned to Steve, his jaw set in determined defiance. “No.” He walked past him and out the hotel door.

 

* * *

 

It was about two in the afternoon when they finally met up with their representative. She went over the list of excursions they could go on. It almost went on without a hitch. But at the very last moment, she hesitated by the door of the small office, turned to them, and pointed at Steve. “You're Captain America?”

Natasha handed her a whole hundred dollar bill to not tell anyone. She shrugged when Steve gave her a disapproving look.

“It's Tony's money, anyway.”

“You know, Tony's been paying a lot for my vacations.”

Natasha shrugged again. Bucky and Sam passed by them and waited by the open door, quickly entering into some silly argument.

Steve watched them from the corner of his eye. Things weren't completely smooth with Tony. He hoped they would improve in time. Bucky has been with them for months. But things were still tense. Tension, it seemed, was Steve's constant companion, both with friends and … friends alike. He wasn't sure yet what to call Bucky, and he decided not to push it, not even in his own mind.

“I just wish he'd talk to me. I feel like he's been avoiding me.”

Natasha smiled sadly, wisely, like an aged mother who knew her children had to find their own way. “He's trying to apologize the only way he knows how. Let him. When he feels ready, he'll come to you so you can apologize the only way you can.”

 

* * *

 

They debated for nearly an hour. In the end, Bucky and Sam wanted to go on the pirate ship. Natasha wanted to swim with the dolphins, but was persuaded to try that activity another day. The pirate ship and dolphins were settled on. The rest of the excursions sounded either boring, dumb, or required leaving Punta Cana. And the more the sun began to shine and the water warmed, the more none of them wanted to leave.

Their first reservation for the week was at the green restaurant. The waiters now wore suits and ties. Bucky and Steve sat next to each other on the couch. Natasha and Sam sat opposite on the chairs. There were more people now that it was officially the weekend – they had arrived on a Thursday – and Bucky's eyes kept being drawn to the other patrons.

“You can relax, you know. I'm pretty sure none of them are Hydra,” Steve said softly, trying to be soothing. Bucky just gave him a hard, annoyed look, then pointed his chin at a nearby table, where a young woman sat with a much older man.

“Russians. You should hear his attempts at flirting.”

Natasha laughed. “Shush, James. They might hear you.”

There was a lot of Russians and Russian in the hotel in general. Bucky and Natasha laughed at the translation and grammatical errors in the Russian section of the menu. Steve concentrated on the English. Sam ordered in Spanish. Natasha and Bucky tried their hand at Russian, and their waiter smiled and seemed to understand only as much of it as he did of the English.

“Stop showing off,” Steve complained. “Not everyone's here bilingual.” The three bilinguals laughed. Bucky reminded them he speaks more than two languages, and soon they were showing off how much they knew in what language.

Halfway through the dinner, Bucky nudged Steve lightly and leaned in close. Sam had gone to the bathroom and Natasha was leaning away from them, her wine glass half-empty, dangling from her fingers as she watched the darkening sky. Bucky pointed to a table of young women, all speaking Russian, who had been glancing his way often. He had noticed it but ignored it. He didn't hear them say his name, so he was sure they hadn't recognized him.

“They're checking you out,” Bucky said. “You should hear what they're saying about you.”

Steve laughed, feeling the blush creep up his cheeks. “Yeah, that happens now sometimes.”

He felt Bucky's hand slide up his thigh under the table. Bucky had drank three of those blue cocktails by now and a glass of wine. He was leaning in close, his breath hot over Steve's face. Natasha stood and the sudden sound of her chair moving back startled Steve enough that he knocked over his water. Natasha giggled, her cheeks equally red from the alcohol.

“I'll be back. Just going to the ladies' room.”

“You gonna be okay?” Steve asked. They were relatively safe here, as far as he could tell, but they were still targets, and easy ones, if they were alone and intoxicated. But Natasha rolled her eyes and winked.

“Aren't you a charmer, making a girl feel safe and loved. Don't worry, the bathroom isn't far.” Her words weren't slurring, at least.

Bucky wasn't moved by Steve's startled spilling of the water or his consequent attempt at cleaning it up. From the moment Steve had jostled, Bucky had plastered himself to Steve's side, and that's where he stayed. The waiter came by, asked something in Spanish. Steve wasn't sure if he was asking about getting him more water or changing the table cloth or what, and just shook his head awkwardly. Bucky saved him with a few words in the foreign language, and in a minute, Steve sat back with Bucky now splayed almost completely over his lap, while two people cleaned up their empty plates, replaced the cloth, and set their drinks back down.

“You gotta get up, Buck,” Steve said, trying to push him away. They were in a “fancy” restaurant, after all. Sure, it wasn't fancy for lunch, but for dinner, semi-formal attire was required. He was sure this sort of behavior wouldn't fly, and had this suspicion confirmed by the sour looks some of the waiters were giving them. It could also have been homophobia. Either way, Steve wanted those looks to stop. The giggles coming from those Russian girls didn't help. But Bucky only wrapped his arms around him tighter.

“Nah. Not until those girls stop talkin'.”

“What are they saying now?” Steve asked, his voice tired and slightly irked. He caught the waiters looking and they quickly turned away. Whatever they thought, they couldn't offend a visitor with staring.

“They're wonderin' if we're family, or if maybe we're just pals, or maybe, and get this, Stevie, they're wonderin' if we're into both and if we'll work out a deal with 'em.”

“A _deal_?”

Bucky laughed. “If you want, I can ask 'em.”

Steve blushed and shook his head. “No, no. Uh, Sam and Nat have been in there for a while, maybe I should...” and he extracted himself out of Bucky's arms and went in search of the bathrooms.

Natasha and Sam were standing between the men's and women's bathrooms, which were separated only by a couple of twisted green blocks.

“That's uncomfortable,” Steve noted as he joined them.

“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” Natasha said.

“What are you two doing?”

“Talking.”

“About?”

They both grinned.

“Barnes is pretty handsy, huh?” Sam asked.

Steve took a step past them and saw that they could see their table, where Bucky sat and sipped at his drink, relatively well through the green bushes lining the restaurant, while still staying relatively hidden.

“Yeah, well, he's drunk.” Steve chose not to comment on their spying.

“I told him not to drink too much,” Natasha said with a sigh.

“Yeah? And why's that?”

Natasha pressed her lips tightly together in a smile that held a million secrets.

Sam called their attention back to the table, which was now empty. When they came back, Bucky was sitting with the four Russian girls, talking animatedly with them in slurred Russian.

The eight of them ended up playing pool together before the ten pm show. They apologized for their comments about Steve. They haven't realized two of their party spoke Russian. One of them told Steve, in horribly broken English, that he and Bucky “look good as couple.” Steve colored. Bucky grinned. They ordered another round of drinks. They were free and sweet, and Steve decided to have a few, though they didn't have any effect on him.

There was karaoke for an hour before the show. All of the Russian girls sang in their native language. Bucky sang _It's Been a Long, Long Time_ by Harry James, his voice slurring in just the perfect way to lull all the listeners into a gentle, drunk torpor. It was surprising how well he sang it. Maybe it only sounded good to Steve. Maybe it was only to him that Bucky seemed like a super star, standing in front of the empty stage, his hat gone and his hair being pulled back by his fingers, revealing his slightly dazed face. His body swayed back and forth with the melody, his voice raised and lowered, each change in either causing Steve's heart to jolt. There was something in that careless sway of Bucky's hips, in the lazy way he ran his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face; something safe and happy and so alien to them both. It was the lack of tension, Steve realized. It was the lack of stress. When Bucky came back he fell onto the couch in drunk giggles and wrapped his arms around Steve, almost sitting in his lap. He was soft and malleable and he shot back slurred come-backs at the Russian girls anytime they said anything to him. Steve couldn't understand a word, but saw from the easy smiles on Natasha's face that they were teasing each other. It was nice. Bucky was being sociable. He was relaxed. Before the ten pm show was over, he was lightly dozing in Steve's arms.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love it when they're happy and relaxed. But don't worry, as this is a longer fic, there will be some drama and angst later :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading! As always, all comments and constructive criticism is welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is short. I'm almost done with the next chapter, though, and might post it up soon. Been a slow process because, well, there's a lot vying for my attention right now. 
> 
> As always, all constructive criticism is welcome, and thank you for reading!

 

3

 

Bucky slept through the phone's insistent calling. Because the phone was on Bucky's side of the bed, Steve had to get up and walk around to pick it up.

“Pirate ship in an hour. Breakfast in five minutes. Hurry your drunks butts up.”

“Nat, you were the drunkest of us all. I had to carry you.”

“Oh. Is that why I woke up in my bra? I usually take that off before I crash into bed.”

Steve sputtered. “I wasn't going to undress you! It's your fault if you fell asleep in your clothes. I got you into the room and took your shoes off for you.”

She laughed and hung up.

Bucky had his head on the table for most of the breakfast hour. Sam drank two cappuccinos and was still grumpy. Natasha was a bit more energetic, but there was an irritated crease in her brow that threatened death on anyone who dared make any loud noises. Steve wasn't sure if any of them even remembered the dance show from last night.

Steve brought Bucky his breakfast, which was abandoned in favor of cake. Because this was vacation, desert came with every meal. Steve refused his, because it was _breakfast_ and the deserts were completely too sweet for him. Bucky ate enough for the both of them, though, and that was saying something. Steve didn't complain out loud about it, though. As morally wrong as it was to have cake for breakfast, he couldn't help but grin in pleasure at the blissful look Bucky had on his face as he dug into the chocolate cake.

The pirate ship took half the day. They watched the show, took some photos with the costumed actors, and imagined themselves going back in history as the ship sailed across the ocean, for all of ten minutes that the voyage took. It was stupid fun. It was like being a child again. Bucky asked if they ever played pirates as children. Steve told him the boys often took the game too far, trying to actually steal from neighbors, or threatening the neighborhood girls with sticks if they got to close to their “pirate ship,” so he rarely participated. Bucky laughed at that. He wouldn't stop trying to talk in a fake pirate accent for the whole excursion after that story, as if he gained some perverse pleasure from pretending to be ten again. So of course, Steve joined in, and they sent silly snapchats to the other Avengers, courtesy of Sam's phone, throwing in as many puns about the sea and random r's as possible.

When they came back, they went to their rooms to quickly change into their swimwear. The sun was shining and the pool was swarmed with people. Their Russian friends were lying on lounge chairs near the bar, wearing elegant hats and large glasses in addition to their skimpy bikinis. They were considerably younger than them. It wasn't so apparent when they were all half drunk and it was late at night, but now that they got a closer look, they saw they were all in their young twenties; rich college girls on a break, probably. That made all four of them a little uncomfortable.

“I'm not mingling with college girls. I'm a bit old for that,” Sam said after they managed to find an excuse to settle their things by the other side of the pool. The Russian girls seemed a little sad, but didn't try to persuade them to stay.

“You're too old?” Steve asked. “Buck and I are nearly hundred. If you're too old then we're dead.”

The other side of the pool was a calmer area, and they decided they liked it more than near the Russian girls, anyway. That corner seemed to be a hotspot for college students set loose, and the Russians quickly found some rich, American freshmen to occupy their time. Their own side of the pool held a more mature group of a young married couple and a few middle aged men and women.

Natasha cut a wonderful figure among the crowd. She had always been beautiful, but there was something softer in her expression now as it relaxed under the sun. She was lying on a lounger in her black bikini. Her scar, the one she showed him in the hospital so long ago, when Steve had no idea Bucky was still alive, shone in the sunlight but did not reduce her beauty in any way. It added strength to her, the same strength that attracted Steve to Peggy and to Sharon.

He couldn't really stop thinking about it. It's not like he ever cared. Back in the 40s, If he heard about two men living together, he'd be rightly weirded out, but he had never been aggressive about it, never cared enough, never thought it was as bad a crime as other people made it out to be. And Natasha was beautiful, and Bucky was his best friend, and they were technically a _thing_ , a “couple,” as the Russian girls called them. And he was still amazed, that though Natasha was absolutely beautiful, he much preferred to turn his head in the other direction. There, Bucky was sitting up on his lounger. He was wearing one of the long sleeved swimming shirts, a white one that contrasted brightly with his black swimming trunks. He was a handsome man, of course, but he wasn't lying out on a lounger like a meal ready to be devoured. His face was contorted in annoyance as he tapped away on Sam's tablet. His hair was tied back and hidden under his white cap. He hadn't shaved in days. He was frumpy, grumpy, and absolutely gorgeous. Natasha was beautiful. But Bucky took his breath away, and that was all at once marvelous and confusing. Because love, love he could do. He could love Natasha as a sister and love Sam as a brother. He could love Bucky as anything Bucky wanted to be loved as. But this... this was a different beast, and Steve knew the burn in his cheeks wasn't from the sun.

“It's too damned hot,” Bucky complained, pulling at his damp shirt.

“Well, yeah, that's what happens when you wear freakin' long sleeves to a tropical resort,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“The arm, dumbass.”

“Oh, right, cause people haven't noticed four people who look exactly like four of the Avengers playing around in the pool yet.”

“The arm will definitely give us away.” He was pulling at his collar more, exposing his collarbone and bits of his chest. Steve wanted to grab that body and press it close.

“Who gives a crap.”

“I don't wanna be _swarmed_ , bird-brain.”

Steve got up and pulled the tablet out of Bucky's hands and handed it to Sam. Bucky was about to ask what he was doing, but he didn't get a chance to. Steve had already grabbed both of his hands and thrown himself backwards into the pool, dragging Bucky along. They resurfaced and heard their friends' laughter. Steve chuckled as Bucky's pissed off expression was softened by the dark hair splattered over his face. Steve swam up to him, wanting to push the hair away. Instead he got splashed in the face with pool water. Bucky ducked under and grabbed Steve around the middle. He went under again, then came back, laughing. Their soaking bodies pressed together then and Bucky wrapped his arms tightly around Steve's neck, his face burrying in Steve's shoulder.

“Everything alright?” Steve asked when Bucky didn't say a word, just wrapped himself tighter around Steve.

“More than alright. This water's warm.” It was warm, more so than any pool Steve had ever been in before. The usual chill of pool water wasn't present when they first fell in, and it almost seemed to be colder in the air outside than within the safe confines of the water. Which wasn't ideal, as Steve hoped the pool water, while it would give him an excuse to touch Bucky in public, would hopefully also calm him down a little. Instead, it boiled his nerves, and he thought about pushing Bucky away before the situation got too dangerous. But thankfully, Sam and Natasha's teasing jokes from the pool-side brought him back to earth, and they loosened their grip around each other enough to allow some air to circulate around Steve's heated head.

It was interesting how being submerged typically brought negative associations to him. How many times had they fallen into water, and been either left there or were sure to be left? When that airplane crashed, Steve didn't expect to be rescued. When he fell from the helicarrier, he was sure he was meeting his end. When they both fell, after the helicopter, after Steve decided to throw everything away, he wondered if Bucky thought he'd be left, too, if he expected to wake up at all.

But this water was warm. It was so warm, it was unlike anything they've ever experienced. And unlike most pools Steve was used to, there were no screaming children and there was no chilling silence of the sporting pool in Stark's tower. There were murmurs to their side, peals of laughter from the college students in the distance, the sounds of water splashing softly. A waitress walked by and her broken English mingled with Sam's fluent Spanish.

He didn't realize for how long they just sat there in the water, holding onto each other and enjoying the warmth, until Natasha and Sam were in there with them, tapping them on their shoulders and handing them drinks.

“Good news. I called the rest of the team,” Natasha said.

“Oh, no,” Steve breathed.

Natasha laughed. “Wanda, Clint, and Rhodes are coming to join us tomorrow.”

“What about T'Challa and Tony?”

“T'Challa says he doubts that the water here is any warmer or clearer than in Wakanda. He invites us to visit a resort near his home next month. And Tony,” she sighed, “well, he says he's busy.” She smiled then and sipped at her drink. The water was shallow enough that she could still stand on her tipy-toes and keep both her face and drink above it. “There's a chance he'll come, though. He said he doesn't see why he should come to Bavaro Beach, of all places. That there are better resorts with better accommodations for someone of his wealth and status,” here she made a face and rolled her eyes.

“He didn't say it that way, did he,” Steve asked.

Natasha laughed. “He said this place was shitty and that if we wanted a tropical vacation, he could have arranged something better. But we were already here, so I didn't see why we should leave.”

“So it _was_ a last minute thing,” Bucky said. Natasha nodded with a smile.

“Oh, you guys looked all so tense. And I did mean it about the storm. We would have had a hard time flying in it and a long time flying around.”

Bucky let go of Steve and sipped on his drink, them he nodded at the tablet lying on Sam's lounger. “I read it hit Florida pretty bad.”

“Tony sent some relief their way.”

“It wasn't as bad as they made it out to be,” Sam added.

“But,” Natasha paused to catch Bucky's hat as it swam by, “if you guys _really_ want to leave, we could now.”

Steve looked at Bucky. He smiled at him. Natasha flopped his wet, sagging hat back on his head. Steve smiled at the wince on Bucky's face as the water dripped down his face.

“Nah, I think we'll stay.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically nothing but fluff and some humor.
> 
> Comments keep writers fed. Please don't let me starve.

4

 

They dressed in the fancier clothes Natasha arranged for them. They were leaving their hotel to go to the resort's main center, where a shopping mall, a disco, a casino, and many restaurants waited for them. Natasha told them they had a dinner reservation. The word she used was “you.” As in, just _him_. Except he assumed it wasn't just for him. He assumed it was with Bucky. He asked Sam about it, and he just told him to enjoy it. They'd meet up later at the casino and disco.

Bucky didn't know. Which was good, because he could pretend it was his idea. Bucky had been, as Sam put it, pretty “touchy” lately, leaning into Steve or initiating embraces oftener than before. Steve didn't care for that _that_ much – though he cared a little – because his main goal was to have Bucky be happy and safe. If Bucky felt happy with a hug and a kiss here or there, then Steve was happy, too. He would stay with Bucky on that couch in front of the show stage, Bucky half-drunk and half-asleep on his chest, forever if he could, if that was what Bucky wanted.

It was still nice thinking he could be romantic, though. He wanted to be. And Bucky's touches definitely weren't platonic. They barely remained _romantic_. There was something else entirely in some of those touches, and though Steve still wanted to be careful, he couldn't ignore how they made him feel anymore. And Steve, honestly, had decided to give up on keeping their relationship chaste. He couldn't fool himself anymore that he didn't feel any physical desire towards Bucky. Watching him getting ready in the mirror, shirtless, Steve definitely felt the sparks of desire. And he was done fooling himself that he could happily ignore those feelings and wait for Bucky to get better.

There was also that nagging, insistent voice – often taking on Bucky's voice, as he had said this very same thing to him before – saying that Bucky _wouldn't_ get better. He'd be like this forever, which Steve didn't mind, he'd love him any way he came, but if he was like this forever, what was the point of making them both wait?

With those rationalizations running through his mind, he led Bucky away from Natasha and Sam and towards the Italian restaurant on the top floor. Except he ended up leading them into a corner. After a laughing fit from Bucky, – “some romantic you are!” – and a few bungled, poorly translated directions, he finally managed to find his way.

The restaurant had a big poster of classic movies in the front; gangsters and fancy women in fur coats, guns and mafia, lights, music, like a trip back in time to 1940's Las Vegas. They waited only for a moment before they were admitted in. Inside, the restaurant was relatively small and was colored white and black. Movie cameras and lights were set up around as decoration. They made Bucky mildly uncomfortable; they could have bugs in them or hide bombs. But once they sat down and they ordered some expensive wine – because Steve could afford it now that his back pay was finally, fully processed – Bucky seemed to relax. It was a strangely intimate setting. And the call back to old movies, even if most of the posters were in Italian, was appreciated. It almost felt like home, like the two of them had not lived those seventy years in the ice. It was a decade or two in the future, when they are older, fully grown adults. And they're on a date. Except in those times, they wouldn't have been. As nostalgic as Steve sometimes became for the past, he would never go back, on account of that alone.

“So,” Bucky began, cradling the delicate glass of white wine between his first two fingers, “this is why I had to wear long pants in 90 degree weather?”

Steve smiled over his glass. “Fancy places like this have a dress-code.”

Bucky hummed and looked around. There was a family with four small daughters not too far from them, and a party of six women and six men along the long bench that lined the entire small restaurant. The waiters all wore black and white, and though they spoke Spanish they all presented themselves with some Italian name. Steve didn't care for it, it wasn't like he spoke either of those languages, at least not very well. Bucky seemed amused though, and after a brief moment, said, “I think I can speak Italian. The hell.”

Steve laughed. “You don't know what languages you speak?”

“It's just, I can read some of what's written there,” he said, pointing to a movie poster for some Italian mafia drama. He laid his hand down on the table. Steve slowly lifted his own hand and laced their fingers together. Bucky's eyes flickered a second and he quickly raised his glass to drink more wine, his gaze never leaving the poster.

“I don't even know what I know and don't know,” Bucky said quietly. Steve stroked his hand with his thumb.

“Hey, all that means is that we gotta travel the world.”

Bucky looked back at him, one eyebrow raised suspiciously.

Steve smiled fondly, loving that quirk of the eyebrow, those shapely, upturned lips. If they weren't in public he'd lean over and kiss him. He actually debated doing it for a moment. Everyone here already knew they were on a date, the hand-holding surely communicated that. But he didn't. Not yet.

“We'll go to every country and sit you down in some cafe and see if you can understand the people talking around you.”

Bucky looked unimpressed. “I could just turn on the TV and cycle through the languages.”

Steve pressed Bucky's hand more firmly. It was his flesh hand, the one that was still soft, still warm. Steve wanted that hand on him so badly. Maybe tonight, if this goes right. Sleeping pressed up next to Bucky was bliss but this, oh, this, he wanted this so badly. The more he thought about it, the more he let himself imagine, the more he realized how badly he wanted it. He'd do anything Bucky wanted. He'd let Bucky do whatever he wanted.

He was pulled back to reality when the waiter came over and asked if they were ready to order. Bucky was. Steve hadn't even looked at the menu.

They both ordered spaghetti. It was the one item on the menu that hadn't been present in some form in the two buffets they've eaten at near their hotel. Steve ordered his spaghetti with alfredo sauce, Bucky with bolognese.

“Is it good?” Steve asked. Bucky looked up, mid-chew, and nodded. He twirled the pasta around his fork and reached over. Steve quickly dipped his head, opening his mouth to accept the offered food. He lingered there, closer to Bucky, close to his face. Bucky swallowed his food thickly and withdrew his hand.

“It's good,” Steve affirmed. Bucky called the waiter over for more wine.

Steve wanted to get a conversation going, something that he could turn into promises and suggestions, without it seeming to come out of nowhere. But Bucky was enjoying his spaghetti too much and Steve didn't want to interrupt. He had time. He had a whole week, or longer, if he wished. He could bring Bucky back here every month, if he wanted to.

“Was this Natasha's idea?” Bucky asked after they finished dinner and were waiting for their deserts.

Steve smiled sheepishly and looked down at his hands. “You caught me. And here I thought I could be romantic.”

Bucky laughed, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. “You absolute sap. If you really wanted to get me into bed that badly, you could have just waited an hour or two. I'd be there soon.”

Steve bristled a little. “That's not what I had in mind.” Bucky raised a brow. “Okay, fine, so maybe that's part of it.”

Bucky's lips parted and he stared at Steve. “God, you're serious. You actually want to. Well shit, here I thought I was too damaged for you to ever want to touch me.”

Steve's face went pale. They hadn't really talked about what happened that movie night. And when Steve didn't say anything about it, neither did Bucky, and Steve assumed it was because he felt awkward about it, too. He didn't think Bucky would have come away with the conclusion that Steve regretted it somehow, or that he didn't want to be with Bucky at all.

The waiter brought over their ice cream and asked if everything was alright, if they needed anything. Steve gaped at him, then shook his head. The waiter gave them a curious look before walking away.

Steve leaned in, his hands flying up to grab Bucky's metal hand, which was resting on the table beside his plate. “You know that's not why.”

“Do I?”

“ _Bucky._ ”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should have thought about how it seemed to _me._ Whatever you intended, that's what I thought when you didn't say anything after, when you only gave in when I started something.” Bucky stared off to the side but didn't pull his hand away. Steve could see the waiter peeking over to look at them in concern. He didn't want to make a scene, but god, he needed to say this as soon as he could.

“I didn't want to sleep with you,” he began, whispering as low as he could while still being audible to Bucky, “because I was worried about you. You didn't need more confusion and potentially unwanted –“

“Unwanted what?” Bucky cut in. He stared Steve straight in the eye.

“Well, I didn't want – Look, you only drape yourself over me when you're drunk or distressed.”

Bucky pulled his hand away. “Cause it's the only time I can. Only time I got an excuse you'll take.” He shoved way too much ice cream on his spoon and ate it in one mouthful, an angry, defiant look in his eye, as if he could take his anger at Steve out on the desert by devouring the sugary goo aggressively enough.

This was not working. Not at all. Steve sighed and let go of Bucky's hand.

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize how it might have seemed to you. I just didn't want to push you. I didn't know you wanted,” he paused, made a small hand motion, “more from me.”

“Bullshit, I said it enough times.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't trust your word then. But it wasn't, absolutely wasn't, because of – of how you are. You know that I love you, no matter what.”

Bucky leaned on the table and picked at his ice cream with a little less aggression. A small smile spread on his lips.

“So you do actually wanna sleep with me.”

Steve's cheeks flushed. “Maybe.”

“Hmm. Too bad you can't get drunk. A drink or two would turn that maybe into a yes.”

“That's horrible,” Steve said, but he was smiling. It did nothing for him, but he sipped at his wine anyway.

“Hey, I'd drink, too.”

“Then we'd both be in the wrong. They talk about this in college classes now, you know.”

Bucky laughed and threw his hands up dramatically. “Well, then, I'm a deviant in both eras, because that was how it was done back then. A little liquid courage for the ladies, if they seemed to be waffling too much.”

Steve shook his head, still grinning.

 

* * *

 

 

They were supposed to meet at the casino with Natasha and Sam. But when dinner was done, they wandered over to the main theater instead. It was a large stage with many rows of seats in front of it on the first floor and on the second floor. Glass panes lined the theater on the right, opening up to the warm night air. From overhead they could see the dark ocean, the sky above it nearly pitch-black. The fountains near the beach shimmered with blue shining water that turned pink, green, yellow; all gently cycling through in the course of a few minutes. They followed the half-opened hallway, hand in hand, watching the lights change. The glass panes to their right were cool to the touch, a contrast to their own sticky hands. The few wisps of wind that came through cooled their heated skin. It must have been over ninety degrees. Steve could feel his clothes stick to him.

They stopped their walk and leaned on the glass panes, trying to catch as much of the breeze on their faces as they could. The dark sky contrasted perfectly with Bucky's skin, so light and ghost-like in the darkness. The lights from the fountains gently glowed in his eyes, and Steve couldn't look away. He saw all the colors cycle through. There was life in those eyes, and a pleased, half-smile on those shapely lips. There was recognition and deep thought, and among it all a general look of contentment. Bucky's hair was pulled back in a loose pony tail at the base of his neck. Strands that had long escaped the confinement were slicked against Bucky's neck and jaw, outlining his face beautifully. Frames for the prettiest damned painting, and Steve wanted to draw him right then and there, but he had nothing on him for that purpose.

They ducked into the casino for only a moment. Natasha was playing poker. Sam was standing by with a drink. Steve gave them a nod and a smile when they noticed them, and led Bucky around the floor for a moment. Steve wasn't much for gambling though, and the look of devilish joy in Bucky's eyes at the sight of the blackjack and poker tables worried Steve enough that he pulled him away, even among the half-hearted protests. The disco was right across. It was dark and loud and the music was horrible.

Bucky loved to dance, but they couldn't dance to the loud wailing and thundering thrum of the speakers. There needed to be a rhythm, a beat, a melody to sway to.

Against all odds, just as they got a drink each in hand from the crowded bar and headed back towards the door, a song came on that met those requirements. Steve didn't know it, and neither did Bucky. It was something modern, but not pop, he didn't think, because he does listen to the radio sometimes to see what's playing and he hadn't heard this song. He paused long enough, trying to figure out what the song was, that Bucky got that stupid, beautiful, wonderful grin on his face.

“First you wanted to fuck me, now you wanna dance? Well, Rogers, aren't you full of surprises today.” It was a little hard to hear each other, even with as close as they stood, so Bucky had to raise his voice for it to carry. Which only made Steve blush even more at his choice of words.

“I didn't say I wanted to dance, and I certainly didn't say I want to do _that_. Not like that.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. He grabbed Steve's drink and put them both on a little table set nearby. He stepped up to Steve and let his hands gently roam over Steve's sides. “Really? What then,” he asked, his voice lowering. He leaned his face in next to Steve's ear. “Did you want to... make love to me? Is that better?”

Steve didn't say anything. Bucky's warm breath against his ear caused a shiver to run up Steve's spine. He grabbed at Bucky's hips, gently pulling him closer. His teeth set tightly against each other. Bucky reached up and wrapped his fingers in Steve's hair.

“You need a formal letter of consent or somethin'?” Bucky sassed. Steve huffed out a laugh and crashed his lips against Bucky's. They made their way to the dance floor. Steve was never good at dancing but Bucky was tipsy and happy and he didn't care that Steve stepped on his toes. He just cared to be there with him, swaying to the music that was way too loud, among the other couples that gathered on the dance floor for the one slow song of the night.

They decided to return to the hotel without Natasha and Sam. They walked the short distance instead of taking the little trolley, to enjoy the night-time beach. The path they took was quiet and solitary, and they stopped often to press kisses against lips and jaws and necks.

“God, I love you,” Steve mumbled under his breath, just as Bucky was childishly kicking at some rock in his path with a silly grin on his face. He looked so young, so like the old Bucky, and Steve's heart ached and soared all at once.

“Yeah? Sucks for you. You're getting a crummy deal.”

Steve pulled him in closer by their joined hands. They had abandoned their semi-formal attire. Bucky held his shirt over his shoulder, his bare chest exposed to the world. Steve's shirt hung open, and Bucky snaked his hands under the fabric to lace behind Steve's back. There was no barrier between them, and Steve really wished they had taken the trolley after all so they could be back in their room already.

“I don't think so,” he finally said, nuzzling his nose against the side of Bucky's face.

Bucky laughed and leaned his forehead on Steve's bare shoulder. He was at least a little buzzed. Steve made him stop drinking when his speech started to slur. He wanted him to be aware tonight.

“Well, _I_ do. I'm getting Captain America.” Bucky looked up, gazing into Steve's eyes with pure adoration. “I'm getting the damned hero of America. I'm getting a good, honest, kind man. A fucking angel, really. It's infuriating.”

Steve kissed him. “And I'm getting you. I still get the better deal.”

Bucky laughed. They picked up the pace to their room.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being shorter than I planned, but, true to the Series, I just couldn't write Sad Things for too long so I wrapped it up quickly.
> 
> The good news is, I do have an idea for another story, so please stay tuned! One more epilogue after this.
> 
> As always, please remember that writers live off of comments and kudos. And we are always hungry for more!

 

5

 

They were in their underwear before they even hit the pillows. The light was still off, the curtains still drawn from the morning. The housekeepers had been in, took the two dollars Steve left them and made the bed.

Bucky laughed, throwing his head back into the pillow. Steve ran his hands up his side, tickling him, and Bucky kicked his legs out.

“Stop, goddamnit,” he cried between laughs, his voice breathless. Steve only relented to press a firm kiss to Bucky's lips. The pillows were soft and Bucky sank into them with the pressure of Steve on top of him.

“I'm gonna drown down here,” Bucky joked.

“Hmm?” Steve asked, pulling away slightly. Bucky reached up and pulled Steve back down.

“Didn't say stop.”

They kissed, lazily at first, their bodies settling against each other easily.

“You know what'd be great?” Bucky asked. His breath still smelled like alcohol.

Steve nuzzled his nose against Bucky's neck. “Yea?”

“Sex on the beach.”

Steve laughed. “The drink?”

“The sex.”

He laughed again, then pressed a line of kisses down Bucky's face. “It'd be messy. Sand everywhere.”

“Hmm, it's messy anyway. Speakin' of which... “ Bucky pushed his hips up against Steve's. His eyes were wide, questioning. “We doin' this?”

“Do you want to?” Steve asked, leaning up on his elbows above Bucky. He was so far sunk into the plush pillows, his eyes half-lidded, his mouth red. He looked like Snow White, if Snow White needed to shave her face. It brought a fond smile to Steve's lips. They were going through every Disney movie, because Bucky actually really liked Disney. There was a nice progression with their marathon; Bucky couldn't leave him, whether taken away by the government or by – Steve wouldn't say what – until they caught up with modern times. Bucky promised him that much, and Steve promised him the same.

“Hey, you listening?”

“Hm? Yeah, what'd you say?”

“I said,” Bucky paused, bit his lip, tugged at Steve's waistband, “that I want to.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Right. Okay. Um...”

Bucky laughed and pushed him off. “If we're actually _doing_ it, then we're gonna need some lube. Wanna make a bet that Natasha packed some for us?” He asked as he got up.

Steve ran a hand down his blushing face. “God, I hope not.”

Bucky came back a moment later with some cheap lotion he found in the bathroom and threw the container on the bed. Then he climbed back on and collapsed onto Steve.

“Should we draw lots?” Bucky asked as he traced his fingers down Steve's exposed stomach. He stopped just shy of his white briefs and glanced up at Steve. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Steve laughed nervously, the heat in his cheeks over-whelming.

“Or,” Bucky began, his eyes wandering lower again. His brows furrowed, his mouth pressed together in a thin line.

“Or?” Steve asked, his hands coming up to gently grab Bucky's elbows. “What's wrong, Buck?”

“Nothin'. I was gonna say, if you don't wanna bite the bullet, I will.”

“Oh, you're gonna bite the bullet, huh?” Steve asked, smiling.

Bucky grabbed Steve through the fabric of his underwear. “Or I'll bite somethin' _else,_ ” he threatened with a sly grin.

Steve groaned, then laughed and pulled him in for a kiss. “Whatever you want, Buck.”

“Then get on top.”

They quickly lost their underwear and Steve uncapped the lotion. They've seen each other naked before, but it was still awkward, being completely nude, and Steve was blushing insanely, trying to keep his eyes on the task at hand. He glanced up at Bucky and paused. Bucky was staring with unfocused eyes at some point above Steve's shoulder.

“You okay, Buck?”

“Yeah,” he said, quickly looking at Steve and smiling. There was tension in his arms, like he was holding himself back. Steve closed the cap and narrowed his eyes.

“You sure? You zoned out.”

“Damnit, Steve, I'm fine. Just fuck me already, alright?”

Steve put the lotion down and reached out to grab Bucky's shoulder. He flinched.

“Hey, you're not okay.”

Bucky held his breath, then let it out slowly. “Fine,” he said in frustration. “I'm not.”

“We should stop,” Steve suggested gently, scooting closer.

“Well I don't wanna. I wanted to... _do this_ for a long damned time. I'm not gonna let what _they_ did to me stop me from – stop me from,” he stopped to let out an angry sigh. “Fuck it all.”

Steve sighed in resignation and put his feet on the floor. “This is why I wanted to wait, Buck.”

Bucky's jaw set. “For what? For me to get _fixed?_ Well, I ain't gonna get fixed, not fast enough for my likes, anyway.”

“Bucky...” Steve began.

“And aren't you the fucking smart one? Are you gonna tell me _told you so,_ too?”

Steve waved his hands in the air in desperation. “But I did! You won't talk to me, or the therapist who's being paid to help you, and you just bottle it all up and get surprised when –“

“For fuck's sake, Steve. I can't tell you anything cause you go around making it into a big deal,” Bucky shot back. He shuffled down the bed and found his clothes and began to dress quickly.

“Bucky, I want to help you!”  
“Well, you're not!” He shot back, turning back to Steve as he pulled on a pair of shorts. “So just sit there and be smug for a minute, cause you're always fucking right, aren't you?” He grabbed a shirt and was out the door before Steve could even get his underwear on.

 

* * *

 

Steve stared at the electric clock. It was about ten minutes after Bucky had stormed out. It was only eleven. He considered going after him, but he didn't know what to say to him yet. He just wanted to help him, to support him, to have him with him. If sex came with the deal, he'd take it. If it didn't, for whatever reasons, then he'd be fine with it, too.

Bucky was going into everything too headlong; like he wanted to pretend nothing happened and that he wouldn't be dealing with the fallout of Hydra's abuse for the rest of his life. Steve didn't blame him; he'd want to forget it all, too. But he worried for him. How could he recover if he didn't talk about it?

Steve sighed and picked up his pants from off the floor. His phone tumbled out and he picked it up. Three missed calls. One from Natasha, after they left them in the casino, and one from Sam, three minutes later. Also a text, with only a winking face, from Natasha. The last call, though, was from Tony. It was dated from around half an hour ago. Steve's heart rate picked up for a second. There could have been an emergency. Someone might be in danger. Why else would Tony call him at night? Not that Tony called him in the day much, either. Nothing would repair their relationship, of that Steve was convinced. Steve couldn't let Bucky go, and every time Tony saw Bucky, he saw the recording in Siberia, of his father, or his mother, of Bucky ending both of their lives.

Without another thought, Steve pressed on Tony's name and put the phone to his ear. He was mostly dressed again and he pulled the curtain of the window back as he listened to the ringing. It was a peaceful night with a full moon. The leaves of the palm trees swung softly in the gentle breeze. There were still people on the beach, wandering on the sand alone or with a single companion.

Finally, the phone clicked and a slurred _hello_ sounded from the other side. Steve frowned.

“Tony, are – are you drunk?”

“What? Me? Whadya think that, huh?”

“Did you call me earlier?”

A pause. “Did I?”

“You did.”

“Oh. Yeah. I was gonna yell at you or something. You know what Pepper said? She said, get this Steve, she said I should go to an AA meeting.” He heard Tony's laughter, at first high-pitched, then booming into a full fit of giggles. “Imagine me, _Tony Stark_ , for fuck's sake, at an AA meeting. I don't do anonymous. That's – that's crazy. But you know, I only drink when I'm depressed.”

“That's not good, Tony,” Steve said gently as he stared out the window. He thought he might have seen Bucky among the figures on the beach. But it could have been some other man with long hair. There were plenty of them here, and the figure was too far away to see clearly.

“Yeah? Well, I've got reasons.”

“There's never a good reason for it.”

“Sure is. You're one.”

Steve sighed. “Tony...”

“Wait. Wait, you sound bad. What happened? Barnes ran out on you or somethin'? Nat, you know, she said we should all go. They're goin' tomorrow. I said I'm not gonna. Why should I? Barnes is there. Is he there?”

“No,” Steve said with another sigh. There was silence on the other end for a long moment. Steve could only hear Tony's deep, long breaths.

“You guys fought?” There seemed to be complete clarity in those words. Steve debated telling him; he hated Bucky, after all, but right now, Steve felt like pouring his entire heart out, to whoever would be willing to listen.

“Yea.”

“What was it about?”

Steve sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I'll spare you the details,” he chuckled a little. “We uh, he zoned out. I asked him if he was okay, and he got pissed at me.”

“You were probably coddling him again, and guys hate that,” Tony said. Steve could practically see him shrug. “It's normal. I mean, dude's a soldier, right? From the 1940's. Feelings are hard.”

“Tony, he's been through a lot. He needs to talk about it. He needs to – he hates it, but he does.”

“This isn't about him, Steve. S'bout _you._ He needs you to _support him,_ and be _patient_ with him.”

Steve remained quiet. He thought he had been doing that.

Tony sighed. “Look. You're a great guy. The issue is that, the guy had no choice, right? He had no choice the entire time. He... he had no choice when he – when he killed. And then, finally, he makes one choice to walk away, and we don't let him. And I know, and I'm sorry I was part of that. Not that I signed the Accords, mind you. Not that I tried to keep us together. Not that, I won't apologize for that.”

“I won't ask you to,” Steve said.

“Good. Cause I won't. Back to Barnes. Let him be responsible. I know that sounds shitty. But you know, he had no choice in doing the bad things. But he has a choice on how to _make up_ for 'em. He can say, _I did it, I did the bad thing, but I can do a good thing back._ When you tell him, _it wasn't your fault_ , you're making him feel like, shit, I don't know. Like everything's happening to him and he's just bein' tossed around, like a doll. The soldier. The victim.”

“But I can't just pretend the _bad things_ didn't happen, Tony.”

“I'm not saying you should. But trust him to do what he thinks is best, and be there for him when he fucks up and needs you.”

“So... you're saying I shouldn't try to protect him.”

“You, as a grown man, do you want someone to protect you and treat you like a baby?”

“No,” Steve said. He kept looking out the window. He could see Bucky now. His metal arm gleamed in the moonlight. He was wandering on the sidewalk, back towards the hotel, his pace slow and roundabout.

“Then you know how he feels.”

“I just don't want to hurt him.”

Tony sighed. “I know. But you will. And you can't help that. Jesus, I was gonna yell at you. I was gonna be pissed about how, in the end, fucking everyone sided with you except for Rhodes and Vision. You know even the freakin' spider kid was trying to argue with me about the freakin' Accords? Something about secret identities, blah, blah. I was gonna be so pissed at you and really rip you a new one.”

Steve smiled. Bucky was clearly visible now, his pensive face turned toward the sidewalk, his hands absently swinging by his sides. He stopped for a moment and looked up. Steve held his breath. Bucky looked right at him. Then he looked down again and began to walk normally towards their room, seemingly having made up his mind.

“Tony,” Steve began. He didn't know what to say.

“By the way, all that shit I just said? Totally made up. Don't take advice from me, I'm drunk.”

Steve laughed.

“Just... when anyone asks, I didn't just give you advice on how to be a better boyfriend, or anything, okay? Cause once that gets out Pepper will expect I changed. And boy, do I still have a long way before I'm _changed_.”

“You did change, Tony. We all have.”

“Yeah? Well, you became a bigger asshole.”

The door opened slowly. Steve took a few steps to the side to look at Bucky as he walked inside. Their eyes met for a moment before Bucky looked away and headed into the bathroom.

“Lisen, Tony – “

“He's back, isn't he?”

Steve felt like he should say something. Apologize again. Apologize that it was Bucky who did it, who killed his parents. But he couldn't.

“Yes.”

Another long silence. Then, in a tone so soft Steve barely heard it. “I hope it works out.” Much louder, with a groan; “Time for bed!”

“That so?”  
“Well, I have a flight to catch tomorrow.”

With that, Tony hung up. Steve put his phone on the bedside table and sat on the bed, waiting. Bucky came into the room a moment later.

“Hey,” he greeted. Steve smiled in greeting. He felt so tired, he didn't think he could argue more. But maybe he didn't have to. _Support,_ he thought. _I have to support, not coddle._

“You did a shitty thing, you know,” Steve began slowly. Bucky sighed and looked up at him. He looked so lost and resigned. “I was just trying to help. To be cautious. What you did was unfair to me, Buck,” he finished, his voice soft, his eyes full of all the gentleness he had for Bucky.

Bucky took a few slow steps towards Steve. “I know. I'm so sorry, Steve. I was just... frustrated with myself.”

Steve waited a few beats. “I forgive you,” he said quietly. Then he reached out, his hands finding Bucky's, and pulled him closer.

Bucky wrapped his hands around Steve's neck, drawing Steve's head towards his chest and placing his cheek on the top of it.

Steve felt Bucky's strong heartbeat, and it lulled him, pacified all the sad and hurt feelings in him. He wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist, pulling him in closer until they were pressed together.

“I wanted to be with you. I thought I could do it. But... I don't know what it is. I don't know if there is anything there. I can't remember everything they did, you know. Maybe it was just me. I got to thinking, who am I to be here? To be with this guy, who's a way better person than I could ever be?”

“Bucky...”

“Lemme finish. I was thinking, who am I? And is he just doing this for me? Cause I asked and he's a nice guy. And see, once you start getting paranoid thoughts like that – look, the point is; I'm broken. Broken as all hell.”

“I know,” Steve said calmly.

“But that pisses me off. Cause I want to do better. I want to be better for you.”

Steve didn't know what to say so he just pulled Bucky closer, got him half on the bed, half on his lap.

“And when you, in all your selfless glory,” Bucky continued, a little laugh escaping him, “stop everything the moment I freeze up; I just feel like I'll never get there. I'm gonna get hurt, Steve. By you, by the others, by myself. By Hydra, every day that I'm living. But I'd rather take some more hurt if it means I can get better.”

“I don't want you to hurt. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.” Steve pulled him in tighter.

“I will, though. I want you, the one person who I know will always be on my side – I want you to be there to help me if I need it. But god, Rogers, when I say I'm fine, don't coddle me. Don't let me get complacent. I don't want that. Cause you're all gentleness and the world is nothing but cruelty.”

“But when you froze up,” he couldn't help it, he had to say it, “how was I supposed to _keep going_?”

“That's not the point, Steve,” he said with a small sigh. “The point is, you were finally treating me like a normal person. I zoned out. I got freaked out, okay?” He let go of Steve and sat on the bed beside him. “And you did the right thing asking me if I wanted to stop... But I said I didn't. And I wanted to push myself cause I worried; If I made you stop now, would you ever try it again?”

Steve let out a breathless laugh. “You were worried I wouldn't want to sleep with you anymore?”

“Basically, yeah,” Bucky said, motioning his hands as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Steve laughed and grabbed Bucky by the back of the neck. Their lips met and they fell onto the pillows. They broke away, chuckled in relief. Steve felt all the uncertainty drain from him. Bucky was warm and pliable beneath him again.

“So, you're saying you wanna try again?” Steve asked.

Bucky winked. “'Course. You?”

“Definitely.”

Bucky's smile wavered a second. “Tomorrow, then?”

Steve smiled and leaned down to kiss him. “Tomorrow. We'll be slow. I'll ask if it's okay, and if it's not, we'll stop. And when it's okay again, we'll keep going. Sounds good?”

Bucky pressed up to kiss Steve again. “Sounds perfect.”

 

* * *

 

It was some time later. Steve's head swam. He was tired, he was warm, and he was so, so damned _happy_. Bucky was in his arms, his back pressed against Steve's chest. They could hear music. Someone was playing something soft in the room next to theirs. It took Steve a moment to realize it was Sam. Maybe he liked to listen to music when he brushed his teeth. He heard them come in some minutes ago, laughing, stopping quickly in front of their door, laughing some more. He'd have to ask later if they won anything. He had to ask how the Japanese restaurant was. Maybe they'd go there next.

Bucky shifted.

“You awake, Buck?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said lazily. They were under the covers, in their sleepwear. Bucky burrowed deeper into the pillows. “Why aren't you sleeping?”

“Was about to.”

He watched Bucky's shoulders shift with each deep breath. The soft music faded out. The moonlight was pouring in from the window. It shone like silver on Bucky's face.

“Marry me,” Steve said quietly.

It was like saying a promise to the air. _I will be with him forever_ , it said.

Bucky grumbled. He shifted.

“You're fucking nuts,” he said finally, so quietly that Steve barely heard him.

He laughed softly and nuzzled his nose against the back of Bucky's neck.

“Marry me, Buck.”

“The alcohol go to your head?”

“Marry me, Bucky.”

Bucky sighed and shifted in his grip. “Shut up, I'm trying to sleep.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, will you marry me?”

“We haven't even had sex or been together long enough to start thinkin' bout _that._ ”

“Doesn't matter. Marry me, Buck? I'm gonna keep asking till I get a clear answer.”

Bucky laughed and turned around in Steve's arms. He pressed his cheek against Steve's chest and closed his eyes. “If I say yes, will you shut up and let me sleep?”

“Only then,” Steve said, tucking Bucky's head under his chin.

“Then yeah, I'll marry you.”

Steve grinned. A few moments later, Bucky's breathing evened out.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Steve asked him again.

“If I say yes, will you let me brush my teeth in peace?”

“Only then,” Steve said as he hugged him from behind in the small bathroom.

“Then yes.”

He asked him again before they left.

“You hard of hearing? I said yes, like a million times.”

“Say it again, a million times more,” Steve said with a grin. They walked hand in hand down the sidewalk.

“A thousand times yes, Rogers. Now shut up.”

Steve continued to grin. Bucky hid under his hat, his eyes shining, his lips turned upwards slightly. If Sam and Natasha saw anything different about them that morning, they didn't say it.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is done! Thank you for reading!

 

6

 

Steve didn't expect the embrace, and didn't jump into fight mode only because he saw Sam's face light up a second before he felt it. He patted Wanda's arm where it wound around his neck, smiled at the weight of her against his back. She practically tumbled over him onto the couch,

“Ugh, the flight was so tiring!”

“Hey,” he greeted, turning his head around to look at her. She was smiling big.

“I am so happy you thought of this,” she said, her tone light, accent familiar. She let go of Steve and lit up in another smile when Natasha came out of the souvenir store with Bucky.

Clint was close behind, testing his resort bracelet. He hugged Natasha close. Maria, Bruce, Scott, and Rhodes were still checking in. Steve looked around.

Wanda and Clint smiled at each other. They both looked toward the front of the lobby, where Tony was chatting animatedly with the attendants who were moving their luggage. He patted the men on the back, slipped them both a fifty, and walked towards the group. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. He looked relaxed, and Steve was glad to notice that the relaxed look didn't leave him even when his eyes landed on Steve.

“Cap,” Tony greeted, still with a pleasant smile. “Sam.” He nodded at him. For a second, when his eyes swept over to Bucky, he paused. Then he nodded, forced a tiny smile. “Barnes.”

Bucky quickly returned the small smile. “Tony.”

Finally Tony's eyes landed on Natasha. He leaned heavily on one leg and sighed. “Romanov. Why. You realize this place doesn't even _have_ a master suite, much less any of the typical things I look for in a vacation destination?”

Natasha scowled at him. “You know what, Stark? Maybe next time you should organize a vacation for us and take us somewhere really nice.”

“Uh, no,” Tony said, squinting at her. “If I do nice things for you, you'll start to think I'm a good person. And then my image as the asshole of the group will be ruined.”

“Who's the asshole?”

Steve rose from his seat. Pepper came over with a confused smile.

“It's Tony, isn't it,” she said, her smile falling. “What did he do?”

Steve laughed. “It's good to see you, Pepper. It's been too long.”

“Has it been long? I've been so busy,” Pepper said as she leaned into Tony, who quickly put his arm around her waist.

“See, even the traitor missed you.”

Pepper pursed her lips. Steve couldn't stop grinning.

“Well,” Sam said, breaking the happy silence, “if you _really_ think we've got shitty taste in resorts, then you'll have to join our planning committee for the next trip.”

“Christ, you guys really love vacations. You all have a job, you know,” Tony said. The rest of the Avengers finally joined them, all fixing up their resort bracelets, looking a little out of the loop.

“Oh,” Sam said, “it's not for us.” He motioned between himself and Natasha. Then he nodded at Steve, and Bucky, who was standing by Steve's side. “It's for their honeymoon. Which I assume is gonna be soon. I mean, you don't get so many proposals in one day unless there's some sort of urgency there.”

Steve and Bucky both turned pale. They weren't aware the two had heard them. Sam was grinning wide. Natasha had a sly look on her face.

“We were almost worried one of them was pregnant,” she joked.

Steve let out a breath of a laugh. “I don't think that's a concern.”

A long, awkward pause followed. Then Wanda leaned forward.

“I can be a bridesmaid, right?”

“Oh, but I am _definitely_ the maid of honor,” Natasha quickly said. Maria gave her a quick look.

“What about Sharon?”

“What about Sharon? She's Peggy's niece, not _Peggy_ herself. She can be a bridesmaid.”

“I'm best man,” Sam quickly jumped in.

“Uh, excuse me?” Tony interjected, moving forward to point a finger at Sam. “Pretty sure I am.”

“Like hell you are! I stuck by him the entire time.”

“Yeah?” Tony wavered for a second. “Well, I'm gonna pay for it all, so I get to be best man.”

“Okay, everyone calm down. No one's – I mean, not yet. We're not getting married yet.”

Pepper shook her head. “Steve, you don't understand how long it takes to plan a wedding. If you want to get married anytime within the next year or two, you have to start planning now.”

Steve took a deep breath and turned to look at Bucky.

He was looking down, his eyes far away, a large, easy grin on his face. The others quickly resumed their arguing over who should be best man. He heard Natasha hash out with Clint what the color palette should be. Steve gently touched Bucky's hand.

“You okay? You're zoning out again.”

Bucky opened his mouth slightly. Then he looked up, his eyes shining.

“I was just thinking... Remembering. The future sucked so far. But the past; there's one good thing now that I could never have then.”

The others seemed far away now. Steve barely heard them.

“We can actually get married. I love you and I can marry you. Isn't that crazy?”

Steve grabbed Bucky's hand and pulled him in for a hug.

“You guys want a drink?” Natasha's voice cut through Steve's dazed brain.

“I wanted something warm, like, the entire flight. Do you know it was fifty degrees at home? It was freezing!” Tony's voice followed.

It all came rushing back and Steve smiled at him.

“Well, get something cold. You're sweating enough as is,” Steve teased.

“But coffee...” Tony said, wiping at his wet forehead. “We left at 6 a.m. you know.”

“Iced coffee,” Pepper suggested. They all walked towards the buffet, Natasha leading the way. Steve and Bucky lingered for a second longer.

“Marry me?”

Steve blinked at Bucky. “That's my line,” he protested.

Bucky shrugged. His cheeks were light pink. He pulled his hat over his face. “I wanted to see how it felt. Saying it.”

Steve laughed. “Yes, Bucky. A million times yes.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments would be greatly appreciated, and as always, I welcome constructive criticism!


End file.
